Two or three days passed.  Sometimes Laura was better.  Oftener she was worse.  Dr. Ames’s carriage seemed always to be driving into the Court.

“Annie says she’s dying,” Rosie retailed despairingly.  “They don’t think she’ll live through the night.  Oh, won’t it be dreadful to wake up to-morrow and find the crape on the door.”

The thought of what she might see in the morning kept Maida awake a long time that night.  When she arose her first glance was for the Lathrop door.  There was no crape.

“No better,” Rosie dropped in to say on her way to school “but,” she added hopefully, “she’s no worse.”

Maida watched the Lathrop house all day, dreading to see the undertaker’s wagon drive up.  But it did not come—­not that day, nor the next, nor the next.

“They think she’s getting better,” Rosie reported joyfully one day.

And gradually Laura did get better.  But it was many days before she was well enough to sit up.

“Mrs. Lathrop says,” Rosie burst in one day with an excited face, “that if we all gather in front of the house to-morrow at one o’clock, she’ll lift Laura up to the window so that we can see her.  She says Laura is crazy to see us all.”

“Oh, Rosie, I’m so glad!” Maida exclaimed, delighted.  Seizing each other by the waist, the two little girls danced about the room.

“Oh, I’m going to be so good to Laura when she gets well,” Maida said.

“So am I,” Rosie declared with equal fervor.  “The last thing I ever said to her was that she was ‘a hateful little smarty-cat.’”

Five minutes before one, the next day, all the children in Primrose Court gathered on the lawn in front of Laura’s window.  Maida led Molly by one hand and Tim by the other.  Rosie led Betsy and Delia.  Dorothy Clark held Fluff and Mabel held Tag.  Promptly at one o’clock, Mrs. Lathrop appeared at the window, carrying a little, thin, white wisp of a girl, all muffled up in a big shawl.

The children broke into shouts of joy.  The boys waved their hats and the girls their handkerchiefs.  Tag barked madly and Rosie declared afterwards that even Fluff looked excited.  But Maida stood still with the tears streaming down her cheeks—­Laura’s face looked so tiny, her eyes so big and sad.  From her own experience, Maida could guess how weak Laura felt.

Laura stayed only an instant at the window.  One feeble wave of her claw-like hand and she was gone.

“Annie says Mrs. Lathrop is worn to a shadow trying to find things to entertain Laura,” Rosie said one night to Maida and Billy Potter.  “She’s read all her books to her and played all her games with her and Laura keeps saying she wished she had something new.”

“Oh, I do wish we could think of something to do for her,” Maida said wistfully.  “I know just how she feels.  If I could only think of a new toy—­but Laura has everything.  And then the trouble with toys is that after you’ve played with them once, there’s no more fun in them.  I know what that is.  If we all had telephones, we could talk to her once in a while.  But even that would tire her, I guess.”